


tesselation

by enemeriad



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 20:42:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2521136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enemeriad/pseuds/enemeriad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If he could just let himself love her, then perhaps, he thinks, his heart will remember how to as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tesselation

one,

'Can I come in?'

And he lets her because despite the fact that they haven't broached this before, it might work, it could bandage the little/deep crevices that he made not because of her but despite her because he knew he couldn't have her. Her hair is tangerine in the dim light and the first thing he notices is the way she is different in this light, almost less seductive at close quarters. Because he doesn't know what to do with the picture in his mind, the pedestal she was put on doesn't match up with the outline of the woman before him. 

But he folds. Not because this is what she wants, they usually talk in vague, abstract observations, but because this is what he wants. Selfish doesn't even cross his mind, because all he can think about is how much he wants this, wants her. 

Her breath fans over his neck, hot and sticky as she peels off her shoes, standing before him a head shorter. She tries his name, lets it hang in the air and he doesn't know if it's a question or a statement, doesn't know what the difference is at that moment because he can fee her her presence invading his personal space. They have never been this close, usually go to great lengths to keep each others personal space, to make it easier to breathe in the space engulfed in their mess. But as she presses her palms flat against his shirt he suddenly knows why they've avoided touching all these years. 

She is like fire 

And his body is a conductor. His limbs are alight, her eyes are molten and his fingertips find friction is conducive to settling the burn. Harvey knows, he is sure that this is right. 

'Are you sure?'

Her laugh rolls out along the apprehension in his speaking, breathy spaces in his uneven intonation. 

'It doesn't work like that Harvey,' she tells him with a wide smile, fingertips easing into his heart, his shirt. He shudders out a breath. Takes a moment. It's make or break. 

'Times ticking,' she whispers, voice low against his neck. 'We've spent long enough playing games.'

Harvey thinks that this is a predictably bad way to go about these things but she is the logical one, if she is suggesting this, then he'll go with it. 

Her lips curl around his jaw and that's all the affirmation he needs, pulling her up and around his waist. One hand curls around to keep her secure, or closer, or something to satiate the ardent frenzy of heat. her thighs lock around him and he spins them around, walking them towards the bedroom. her hands pull down on his shirt while her lips find his again and all Harvey can think is why haven't they done this before? 

She unravels herself from him, slipping down onto the bed and suddenly Harvey feels like a fifteen year old losing his virginity. His hands don't know where to go, his mouth feels wooden, his tongue heavy and inexperienced. This is her The epitome of his adult life, the only woman that fit him and he doesn't know what the fuck to do with himself, with his hands. The sound that erupts from the back of his throat is a mixture of every ounce of frustration he has. 

She just smiles, and nods. Pulls his hand a little and he leans down against her, finds the spaces where he should fit and tries to let himself. 

If he could just let himself love her, then perhaps, he thinks, his heart will remember how to as well.

 

two,

When she moves beneath him, her hair is spread out on his pillow like an vermilion halo but she looks anything like an angel. All woman. All human. Every curve glides under his hands as he tries to touch everything before the moment expires. Her lips cling to his desperately, her eyes screwed shut as he finally, finally moves inside her. Everything is blurry then, the picture beneath him distorts a little and he thinks, how is this real? 

Her breath kisses his skin before she moves in to capture his lips, the hum of approval under her tongue and he forgets about dreaming. This is now. This is her. Harvey slips his hands to her hips, finds the ability to tilt he jus so and her lets out a delicious moan that he eats up. 

'Please,' she murmurs, eyes clasped shut. 'Please.'

Harvey does what he does best. 

He closes. 

 

 

three,

She comes in three open vowels, her mouth pink and dangerous beneath him. 

And then her eyes open. 

 

four,

The morning air comes in from the open window and gooseflesh erupts along his skin. He stills, waits a moment, hesitates on the inevitable before he smooths his hand along the surface of the bed to the empty space beside him. 

His fingers brake along the edges of the thick paper of the business card and his eyes open for a moment before he shuts them again, the light too bright, too stark. 

 

five, 

Donna hands him his coffee, standing in front of his desk, and the blurry distinction crystallise. Her hair is a brighter red, more towards mahogany than tangerine, her chin is sharper, her eyes glittering with humour and a disparaging remark, her nails are a bright fire engine red that curls around the mug she hands him. She makes a comment about his appearance, circles his desk to adjust his tie and rolls her eyes. 

'Did you sleep at all last night?' She asks, handing his mug to him, her head tilted to the side like she knows nothing an everything 

He nods, and then shrugs. 'Depends on how you define sleep.' 

Donna grins, the smirk pulling up from one side of her mouth as she closes the door behind her. Harvey presses his forehead into his palms, hoping he can push the memories of her from his conscious with the sight of Her. The two intertwine until he can't tell the difference between them, doesn't know if they are. 

He reaches into his pocket after a beat, teases the card out of his pocket and places it face down on his desk. His fingertips burns into his temples again before he shakes himself off, adjusts his cuff and stares down at the card. 

His eyes picture curves that felt a little too much like someone else's, thighs that didn't stretch unimaginably tantalisingly, skin that tasted a little too much like bitterness and clavicles that painted jagged, difficult lines he didn't want to see. she is unbelievably imperfect, freckles that dust over her nose and a voice that is a touch too high, a treble that doesn't withhold sarcasm. 

He turns it around then, her calling card and picks up his mobile, for a secure line. 

Her voice is crisp and harried, she's busy, with someone. He clears his throat and blurts out a time, staring at his secretary as She leans back in her chair, chewing on the end of her ball point. 

He hears the dial tone, accusing and mean. There is a terrible hollowness inside him, a cavernous void where he supposes Donna would fit. 

But he's not quite ready. Not quite there. Needs to learn to love himself, needs to smooth down the edges of the space so that he can love her. 

So they can, maybe, one day.


End file.
